


i'll reach my hands out in the dark and wait for yours to interlock

by be_the_good_guys



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Babies, F/F, F/M, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Six year time jump, and miller and jackson are there, except more happens, more drama, spacekru
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:56:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24228454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/be_the_good_guys/pseuds/be_the_good_guys
Summary: Another Spacekru during the time-jump fic, but Miller and Jackson went to space with them instead of staying in the bunker.Snapshots from the six years, including Bellamy mourning Clarke, Monty dealing with his injured hands, Murphy's coma, weddings, accidental babies, and algae.Lots of algae.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, Bellamy Blake/Echo, Echo/Raven Reyes, Emori/John Murphy (The 100), Eric Jackson/Nathan Miller, John Murphy/Raven Reyes, Monty Green/Harper McIntyre
Comments: 55
Kudos: 96





	1. Part One// Miller

**Author's Note:**

> three days to s7 and this is how i'm coping.
> 
> i've always liked the idea of miller and jackson being part of spacekru, and i've always wanted spacekru flashbacks in general, so i'm excited to write this. each update will most likely have a different pov.
> 
> thanks for reading!

“Will it hurt?” Miller murmurs, hating how young he sounds. “Suffocating?”

“Not really,” Jackson replies quietly. “Your body will start to panic when it can’t get oxygen. You’ll probably feel some pressure in your lungs. Then you’ll lose consciousness.” Jackson shrugs a little. His eyes are sad and brutally earnest, reflecting the light in his suit. “It’s not the worst way to die.”

Miller exhales shakily, trying to take smaller breaths. He knows it’s pointless. Their oxygen is all going to run out soon, and the Ring is still dark. After all he’s been through, he shouldn’t fear death. On the ground, death loomed in the shadows, always nearby, always uncertain. Now death is stepping into the light and staring him in the face, and he can’t even fight it. You can fight grounders and mountain men and A.I., but you can’t fight suffocation. “Still sucks." 

Jackson’s lips twitch. Not quite a smile. 

“Are you scared?” Miller asks, watching the scorched Earth rotate into view through the oculus. Bellamy’s glued to the window like he’s watching Clarke’s final moments, torturing himself while he lives out his. 

Jackson shakes his head. “My mom suffocated to death when I was nine,” he says, in barely a whisper. “She was sick. Her lungs started filling up with fluid. I guess dying the same way as her thirteen years later kind of feels like closure.”

His words wrench a knife in Miller’s chest. He thinks of his dad waiting five years in the bunker to see him again, while his body floats in a capsule in space. At least his dad will live to see the other side of the fighting. He clings to that thought.

“I left her behind,” Bellamy says. He’s the only one out of his seat and floating, but guilt and grief seem to weigh him down. “I left her behind, and we all die anyway.”

They all fall silent, even Murphy. Miller doesn’t need to ask Jackson if Clarke’s death will be quick; they both saw what death by radiation looks like in Becca’s lab. It’s a small mercy that Bellamy didn’t.

“Bellamy, look,” Monty says urgently, and they all turn their heads toward the window, to the Ring lighting up in the dark.

“Clarke did it,” Emori breathes, a grin spreading across her face.

Death has seen them and looked the other way. Miller looks at Jackson. “Think your closure can wait?”

They race up the darkened halls of the Ring. Miller helps Murphy carry Raven, whose oxygen levels are critical. By the time they reach the port for the oxygen generator, Miller’s starting to feel pressure build up in his chest with every inhale.

They start dropping along the wall, too weakened to stand. Bellamy acts as Monty’s hands while Monty instructs him in installing the generator and Miller’s awareness begins to blink in and out. Jackson pulls off Miller’s helmet and presses an oxygen mask from his own supply to his face. Everything tilts into focus when the precious air fills his lungs, but only for a few seconds before his head goes fuzzy again; he hears hisses from multiple oxygen canisters as the others frantically do the same. Miller’s chest is constricting as he turns the canister around to press to Jackson’s face, and Jackson’s eyes lock on Miller’s as he breathes, wide with fear. Their oxygen supply runs out completely while Bellamy is still installing the generator. The Azgeda spy, Echo, falls against the wall beside him, choking softly. Jackson is slumped forward, eyes closed, and he’s the last thing Miller sees before his face goes numb and the darkness at the corners of his vision swallows everything. 

His eyes fly open with the force of his body’s gasp for air- air that is coming through the generator. Miller struggles to control his desperate lungs, falling sideways with the force of his diaphragm expanding. The others are coming to life as well, dragging themselves toward the generator, gulping down the steadily flowing oxygen. Jackson is still unmoving beside him; Miller grunts, wrapping his arm around Jackson’s waist and lugging him towards the vent. Jackson starts coughing and Miller falls back, breathing deeply and blinking black spots from his eyes, listening to the symphony of his friends recovering from the brink of death and the merry hum of the generator. _You’re alive,_ it seems to sing. His whole body trembles with adrenaline. _Alive, alive, alive._

Turns out you can fight suffocation, after all.

Jackson pushes himself up on his elbow, weakly grasping Miller’s shoulder. Miller leans forward, meeting him halfway and kissing him hard. It’s not a very good first kiss- it’s shaky and disjointed, and after pulling away Miller falls to the floor beside Jackson, laughing in between gasps.

Death can go fuck itself.


	2. Part Two// Bellamy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Month two on the Ring. 
> 
> “Bellamy. Are you listening to me?”  
> “I can’t lead like Clarke,” he mumbles.

They’ve gone six days without eating.

Their rations ran out sooner than expected, and the algae farm’s been slow-going since Monty can’t run it himself. His hands are still supremely fucked up; he can’t move his fingers, and his wrists are barely mobile. Even with Jackson doing everything he can, their medical supplies are limited; they don’t have any real equipment, since med bay wasn’t part of the Ring. All they have for the next six years is the med kit Jackson brought with him. The burns on Monty’s hands have scarred over, but they remain paralyzed from nerve damage. Jackson said Monty could try physical therapy once they’ve had a little more time to heal. The young doctor’s expressions are typically hard to read, but Bellamy sensed the forced optimism when he said that and didn’t take it as a sign of hope.

Things have been pretty hopeless in general, as of late.

Bellamy’s taken to being Monty’s hands for the algae farm. Mindlessly following Monty’s instructions is better than being alone with his own thoughts, which all revolve around Clarke. Making algae bloom is more complex than it sounds- Monty keeps Bellamy busy for hours at a time, stirring here, recording there, checking there. It’s dull work but it’s all that keeps him going- it’s all that will keep them all going, because they’ll soon starve to death without it.

Monty usually stands, hovering over Bellamy’s shoulder as though Bellamy’s arms are truly attached to his body. Today he’s sitting, shoulders slumped and skin pale. Bellamy figures he doesn’t look much better.

“How’s Harper doing?” He asks, to avoid the silence that would allow his thoughts to slip in.

Monty startles a bit, as though he’d been dozing off. “Harper. She was, um. Still sleeping when I left her this morning.”

Seems like they’ve been doing a lot of that since their rations ran out. Even Raven’s taken a break from her constant repairs of the ship, and Echo hasn’t left her room in days since there’s no food to come out for.

“I’m worried Bellamy,” Monty confesses. “She’s getting sick.”

Bellamy adjusts the temperature of the algae pool. “Have Jackson check on her.”

“He’s sick too,” Monty frowns. “We all are. If this farm doesn’t start producing enough algae to feed us soon-“

“I know, Monty,” Bellamy sighs. They’ll wish they died in Praimfaya once the real consequences of starvation set in. Maybe the symptoms aren’t hitting Bellamy as hard as the others because watching them go through that will be his punishment for leaving _her_. He’s never given much thought to fate or karma, but that’s how it works, isn’t it? They side-stepped death by pushing Clarke in its path, and it’s finally catching up with them.

“I just wish I could do more,” Monty murmurs. Bellamy turns around to see him glaring at his hands, which rest uselessly on his lap. 

“Hey,” Bellamy says. “You’re doing everything you can. You wouldn’t be able to make this algae bloom any faster even if you could use your hands.”

Monty smiles a little. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

Then they hear someone start screaming for help.

“That’s Murphy,” Monty says, jumping to his feet.

Bellamy runs down the hall with Monty in his wake, the first to make it to Murphy and Emori’s room. Murphy’s kneeling on the bed, cradling Emori’s prone figure.

“What’s wrong?” Bellamy demands.

“What the fuck does it look like?” Murphy snaps, though his voice and body are shaking. “She’s not waking up.”

Emori’s skin is gray, her breathing shallow.

“Move,” Jackson says, materializing beside Bellamy. He presses two fingers to Emori’s neck. “Her pulse is too weak.”

“So _do something_ ,” Murphy growls- no, _begs_. His tone bites, but only because he’s scared, Bellamy realizes. He’s never seen such raw fear displayed in Murphy’s eyes before- not since Bellamy hung him.

“I can’t,” Jackson replies, firmly but not without sympathy. “It’s starvation.”

“Monty, is the algae farm producing anything?” Harper asks from the doorway, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She’s shivering- she’ll be next, Bellamy realizes, if they don’t solve this problem fast.

Monty presses his lips together. “The first culture has bloomed, but it could be dangerous. We don’t know-“

“I’ll test it,” Murphy says, eyes wide. “I’ll test it first, and see if it’s safe to eat.”

Monty looks as though he wants to protest.

“Monty,” Bellamy murmurs. “We can’t let her die. It’s the only option.”

Murphy flinches at the word “die”.

“Okay.” Monty nods reluctantly. “Murphy, come with me. Jackson too.” 

“I’ll stay with Emori,” Harper says, entering the room.

Murphy doesn’t budge.

“Trust me,” Harper tells him, touching Murphy’s shoulder. Bellamy wants to tell her that Murphy’s never trusted anyone a day in his life, but to his surprise Murphy moves some hair out of Emori’s face, and stands to follow Monty out, leading Bellamy to think that maybe he has changed.

Maybe they all have, and Bellamy’s been too stuck in his own head to notice it.

Monty has Bellamy ladle a minuscule amount of algae into a bowl for Murphy.

Murphy studies the slime in the bowl with a grimace. “ _This_ is what’s on the menu for the next six years?”

“What did you expect, steak?” Monty retorts. “Having second thoughts?”

“Hell no. I just wanted to give my compliments to the chef.” Murphy brings the bowl to his lips and literally chugs the contents, much to Jackson’s demise.

“Careful, when you haven’t eaten anything in awhile you gotta-"

“Fucking Christ.“ Murphy moves to set down the empty bowl, missing the table by a foot and dropping it with a clatter. He clamps a hand over his mouth, gagging.

“Murphy, I swear to god if you throw up and waste that algae I’ll float you myself-“ Monty starts.

“No,” Murphy waves him off, taking a deep breath. “I’ve been hung, tortured. I’ve pumped a human heart with my bare hands-" he licks his lips, and shudders. “And somehow _that_ just made number one on the ‘worst things you’ve made me do to survive’ list. And it’s a very long list, might I add.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Monty grumbles without heat.

“Say that again when you have to choke this stuff down,” Murphy replies, as Jackson hands him a canteen of water, because Jackson is the only one who would still have the courtesy to do that regarding Murphy. “Thanks, man.”

“How do you feel?” Bellamy asks.

“Thoroughly disgusted. Emori’s turn.”

“We need to wait an hour to see the effects,” Jackson interjects, crossing his arms.

Murphy sighs. “Then let’s wait. With Emori.” He strides out of the room before any of them can say anything.

“It’s strange seeing him like this,” Bellamy admits. “Once upon a time I wouldn’t have imagined him capable of love.”

_Yet you abandoned the girl you love. Why did she always have to be the one to save us all? There were so many times you could’ve taken her place. And the last time, when it really mattered, you stood by. It could’ve been you. It should’ve been you._

“Character development,” Monty agrees, following Jackson into the hall.

_It should’ve been you._

Bellamy trails after them, and is met with the alarming sight of the two flocking Murphy, who’s doubled over and sinking to the floor.

“ _Dammit_!” Bellamy exclaims, lumbering towards them.

“I knew it wasn’t ready,” Monty’s panicking, holding one of Murphy’s arms. “I told you-“

“He’s burning up,” Jackson murmurs, kneeling down next to Murphy on the floor. Bellamy’s always found Jackson’s ability to remain perfectly calm in dire circumstances a bit unsettling, but now he’s grateful for it; Bellamy himself is on the verge of punching the metal wall.

Murphy’s muttering nonsensically, his eyes shiny and glazed over, his breathing shallow. There’s a thin sheen of sweat on his face.

“Why is he reacting so fast?” Bellamy asks.

“It’s the same reaction we’d see if he was poisoned,” Jackson says without looking up. “Help me get him on his side, he can’t breathe.”

Bellamy and Monty do as they’re told; it works, Murphy’s able to get a few rasping breaths in before his eyes tremble shut.

“Monty, tell me everything you know about the algae,” Jackson says urgently. Monty rambles off a list that soars over Bellamy’s head, but Jackson seems to understand; it’s like the two are speaking a foreign language.

“What the hell is happening?” Enters a voice from down the hall, as well as the tell-tale clunk of a metal brace against metal flooring. 

Bellamy turns to Raven, figuring if he couldn’t help Monty and Jackson he could at least be of some use explaining. “Murphy tested the algae.”

Raven’s brow furrows, her eyes darting between Murphy on the floor and Bellamy. “What? It’s not safe, we knew that.”

“We didn’t know for sure, and Raven, we can’t wait any longer for a food source. Emori’s not going to make it another two days, and the rest of us are going to start dropping too unless we figure out something to eat.”

“Yeah, looks like Murphy testing the algae really solved that problem,” Raven says harshly. “Now two of us are down. It was a bad call, Bellamy.”

The blaze in her eyes, accompanied by the dizzying back-and-forth between Monty and Jackson, and Murphy’s wheezes make his head pound. The hallway is compressing like a tin can.

“ _Bellamy_. Are you listening to me?”

“I can’t lead like Clarke,” he mumbles.

The fire in Raven’s eyes is doused.

“I’m so stupid,” Monty says, then exclaims, “I’m so stupid!”

He’s tearing down the hallway towards the algae farm before anyone can ask.

“You should go with him,” Jackson tells Bellamy and Raven, and Bellamy realizes Miller’s arrived to help carry Murphy.

“Let’s go,” Bellamy murmurs, turning to follow Monty.

“Bellamy, wait.” Raven’s hand lands on his shoulder, stopping him.

He can’t look at her.

A whoop from Monty echoes down the hall, followed by a loud clatter. 

Bellamy shrugs Raven’s shoulder off, starting to move again.

“We need to talk about this. About you. About her,” Raven insists, limping after him.

He grits his teeth. “There’s nothing to talk about anymore.”

“Really? Then where has your head been these past three months? ‘Cause it sure as hell hasn’t been on this ship with the rest of us.”

Bellamy ignores her, pushing open the door to the algae farm. 

Monty’s at the control panel. The binder Bellamy’s been keeping all the records is open face-down on the ground, as well as a box of tools, like Monty tried to pick them up. He’s hovering over the panel anxiously, his stiff hands trembling at his sides.

“I was too afraid to try changing the settings myself,” he says.

“Change them to what?” Bellamy asks, assuming his position beside him.

Monty’s smiling for the first time since Jasper’s death; it’s a little manic, but his eyes are bright, and Bellamy can see the gears turning behind them. 

“Listen carefully.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for all of your amazing support on the first chapter, seeing kudos and comments makes my day!
> 
> i also posted a separate 400 word mackson drabble yesterday, if anyone wants to check it out.
> 
> s7 tomorrow!


	3. Part Three// Raven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Month three on the Ring.
> 
> “Did you seriously expect us to be a family?” Raven asks. “As in game nights and family dinners? We can hardly talk to each other.”

Raven’s stomach spasms when the algae hits it.

She groans, resting her cheek against the cool metal table, which provided a spot of relief on her feverish body.

Monty’s latest culture of algae is edible, but vastly imperfect, and hardly an improvement from the batch that put Murphy in a coma. Their bodies are still rejecting the substance, but as long as they can keep it down, it’s enough to keep them from starving. Barely.

“Bucket?” Bellamy’s offering, holding up the metal pail for the table. “Raven, bucket?”

She waves him off, swallowing hard against the taste that seems to fill every crevice of her mouth. She lifts her head from the table, seeing the others in similar states of indisposition.

“Actually, yeah,” Harper responds, taking the bucket from Bellamy and hugging it in her lap. This is the first time they've all kept the algae down for longer than three minutes, so the bucket is still a precaution after Bellamy didn’t make it to the latrines in time last meal.

“I’m really close to developing a new culture,” Monty announces, per-routine, once he can speak. “This one should be a little easier for our systems to metabolize, if I could just get the formula right-“

“Monty,” Miller clears his throat and gives Monty a disarming look. “It’s okay. We know you’re doing everything you can. We can deal.”

Monty’s expression, which seems to be perpetually troubled nowadays, is exaggerated by the shadows under his eyes. The crease between his brow deepens, and he looks away. “It’s not enough.”

“It is,” Bellamy counters. “It’s keeping us alive, which was what we needed. Now there’s time for fine-tuning.”

“Not now though,” Raven interjects, combing sweaty stray hair back from her face and making eye contact with Monty across the table. “Take a break, Green. I mean it this time.”

“But-“

“The rest of us can handle the algae farm, but you have at least a couple days of sleep to catch up on. Plus that other activity you and Harper like to do a lot.” Raven relishes with a small smirk at the way Monty flushes.

Harper shakes her head, hunched over the Bellamy’s Bucket. “Ugh. No promises.”

Bellamy nods. “Raven’s right. You need it.”

“But I don’t deserve it,” Monty says quietly, eyes shining with the breaking-point of frustration.

“Monty, we’ve been over this,” Harper says gently. “Murphy chose to test the first batch knowing the risks. It’s not your fault.”

“It was _one_ bad strain,” Monty says, more exhausted than angry at himself. “I found it less than five minutes after it put him in a coma, if I had just ran one more test I could’ve caught it and he would have been awake for the past month.”

“We’ve all made mistakes,” Bellamy says. “Dwelling in them isn’t going to make moving forward easier. We forgive you, and Murphy will too, once he wakes up.”

“ _If_ he wakes up,” Monty snaps. “And you know, you’re one to talk. You’ve been spending every second beating yourself up over leaving Clarke for months.” He stands in the stunned silence that follows, storming towards the door. “So don’t _lecture me_ about self-forgiveness.”

“Monty,” Bellamy calls out, his expression unreadable, but Monty’s already gone. Harper quietly gets up and departs after him in the heavy silence that follows.

Raven looks up at Bellamy, opening her mouth to speak, but Bellamy beats her to it.

“He doesn’t mean it,” he says, beginning to pick up dishes like the previous conversation hadn’t happened. “He’s just exhausted.”

“Hey,” Raven says, unsure how to reach the broken man before her. “We know. But we should still talk about-"

“I’ll wash these,” Bellamy continues, like she hadn’t spoken at all. “Who’s got Emori and Echo?”

Another pause follows that has nothing to do with who will bring Emori and Echo their supper. Raven looks across the table to Miller and Jackson, but neither joins her in intervening.

“Emori, I need to check on Murphy anyway,” Jackson murmurs, looking like he wants to say more. But he doesn’t. He simply scoops some algae into Emori’s bowl and leaves for the med bay.

Raven sets her jaw when Bellamy exits to the kitchen with the stack of bowls.

“You can’t tell him how to grieve, Raven,” Miller says, eyes downcast.

“You’re his best friend,” Raven replies. “Don’t you want to help him through this?”

“When he wants to talk, he’ll talk.” Miller stands, reaching for a bowl. “I’ve got Echo.”

“No, I’ve got it.” Raven says, picking up the bowl and scooping algae into it with a tad more aggression than she meant. Some of the green goop splatters on the table. She turns on her heel and exits the mess hall, counting identical doors until she reaches the room Echo’s been locking herself in for weeks at a time.

She raps on the door, “Echo!” And, as usual, is met with no response. She sets the bowl down outside Echo’s door and continues down the hall, not realizing she was running until she slams against one of the windows. 

She catches her breath, sliding down against the cool glass until she’s sitting on the floor. She fiddles with her brace absentmindedly, allowing space’s stillness on the other side of the glass to settle her for a while. When Bellamy eventually joins her, she waits for him to start talking.

The sound of a door clicking open in shut is audible from down the hall as Echo retrieves her algae.

Bellamy snorts at the noise. “Some family we are.”

“Did you seriously expect us to be a family?” Raven asks. “As in game nights and family dinners? We can hardly talk to each other.”

“It’s the only way we’re gonna stay sane up here for five years.” Bellamy sighs. “I’ve been being a hypocrite. Monty was right. _You’re_ right.”

“You say that like it’s a surprise.” Raven smiles a bit, and Bellamy shoves her shoulder lightly, before his warm expression freezes over.

“I just… I don’t know how to talk about it,” he whispers.

“Her.” Raven looks over at him. “Clarke, Bellamy. You can say her name.”

Bellamy opens his mouth, staring out at space, but it takes a long time for the word to arrive at his lips. “Clarke.”

“I understand, you know,” Raven tells him. “Everyone up here knows what it’s like to lose someone they love. With Finn, it…” she takes a shaky breath. “It was the worst pain I’ve ever felt. And it doesn’t go away. It just gets louder when the fighting stops and there’s room for it.”

Bellamy shakes his head, his forehead against the glass. “The way you loved him was different.”

Raven studies Bellamy for a moment. He’s perfectly still, every muscle tensed. In the dull lighting, the far-off eye might have mistaken him for a statue. Raven can see the cracks running through his stone figure; if she tapped him, he would crumble to dust.

“I don’t think you believe that,” she whispers.

Tap.

His shoulders curl in with a shuddering sob.

Crumble.

She moves closer and wraps her arms around him, and he curls into her, as months of pent-up grief are given their release.

“I never told her,” he cries. “I don’t- I didn’t deserve to love her, I _abandoned_ her.”

Raven squeezes the back of his neck, tears blurring her own eyes. “Clarke wouldn’t want you to think that. She wanted us to live. We’re going to live for her, okay?”

“I don’t know if I’m strong enough.” Bellamy’s voice breaks with another sob.

“You are.” Raven’s eyes slide shut against the starry abyss. “Clarke knew you would be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for reading, and the comments + kudos! Sorry this chapter took an extra week, I actually wrote it as an Emori chapter at first, got major writer's block, and rewrote the entire thing as a Raven chapter instead which is why it took so long.
> 
> I know this is the smallest platform, but I still want to use it to spread awareness for Black Lives Matter and encourage everyone to donate and support this indescribably important fight. Here is an amazing link with tons of resources and educational materials if you're wondering how you can help. 
> 
> https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/#


	4. Part Four// Jackson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Month three and four days on the Ring. 
> 
> Jackson’s usually amazing under pressure.

There isn’t much to do in space with only eight other people.

Being Abby’s only surviving apprentice meant that Jackson hadn’t stopped for the entirety of those months on the ground, always on call, sleeping in Arkadia’s med bay and never for longer than a couple hours at a time because the patients never stopped coming with gunshots and arrow wounds and radiation poisoning. A quarter of the injuries he saw he hadn’t even been trained for before having to heal them, and when Abby became Chancellor the majority of her doctor responsibilities fell on him. It was one hell of a graduation from apprentice to full-time doctor, but life was never boring, and the transfer to the empty days on the Ring felt like whiplash.

There are positives to having time to spare. His sleep schedule can’t seem to shake doctor-mode, so he still sleeps in short bursts rather than eight hours straight like the others, but there’s no reason to fix it when there’s no night or day and mealtimes are the only thing on his schedule.

He helps Monty and Bellamy with the algae farm, because most of it is biology, and assists Raven when she needs a steady hand tinkering with the ship. Life is quiet, but quiet can be good.

“Busy, Jackson?” Miller- _Nate_ \- it’s strange being the only person on the Ring to call him by his first name- asks, poking his head into the small kitchen attached to the mess hall where Jackson stands at the sink.

Jackson feels a small smile tug at his lips, not looking up from the bowl he’s currently washing. “Yeah, I’m slammed for the rest of the week.” He frowns at the spot he’s been scrubbing for five minutes. Not only is algae mildly poisonous, but it’s also the consistency of glue and just as difficult to clean from the dishes.

Nate laughs. “I can imagine. Think you can fit me in some time?”

“That’s tough, I’ve got a few minutes now,” Jackson replies, setting the bowl on their makeshift drying-rack.

Miller’s hands appear on his hips and he spins Jackson around so he’s pinned up against the sink. “A few minutes, huh? Well then, we should probably make the most of-”

Jackson’s kissing him before he’s finished talking, grinning against Nate’s lips.

Yeah, quiet isn’t half-bad.

“I was actually thinking-“ Nate murmurs in between kisses “We could talk-”

“Talk?” Jackson parrots, the word barely registering in his preoccupied brain.

Nate pulls away a little, allowing Jackson to catch his breath. “Yeah,” he says, holding Jackson’s gaze. “Like, twenty-questions or something.”

“Oh.” Jackson blinks, leaning back against the sink. “Huh.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Nate smirks. “I just feel like I’ve told you everything about me, but I know, like, a solid four facts about you.”

_That’s probably the extent of it_ , Jackson thinks, but merely shrugs. He holds Nate’s gaze for another second, before kissing him again, weakly hoping that it will change the subject.

It does, and they make out for another couple minutes before Nate speaks again. “ _Eric._ ”

Hearing that name sends a jolt up his spine, and he pulls back sharply without meaning too, heart thumping. “Um.” God, no one's called him by his first name since-

“What?” Nate furrows his brow at him as Jackson avoids eye contact. His expression and tone are a cross between lighthearted and concerned. “Are we not on a first-name basis either?”

“No-” Jackson sputters, moving away from the sink and internally wincing at how it creates more space between them. “I mean yes. No, sorry, I just- Uh-”

“You just what?” Nate asks, frowning. “I don’t get it. Why can’t you talk to me?”

Jackson’s usually amazing under pressure. It’s a side effect of being a doctor. He’s not used to his thoughts shooting in a million separate directions as they are now, seizing control of his mouth before he even considers what he’s about to say. The sensation is dizzying. “Maybe… maybe we’re just not meant to talk.”

“What does that mean?” Nate crosses his arms, and Jackson continues, eyes locked on the edge of the counter.

“You never...said you expected anything. Let’s face it, Miller, the only reason we hooked up on the island was because I didn’t want to be alone when the world ended and you needed a distraction from Bryan.”

Nate falls silent, and part of Jackson is begging himself to take it back, but he doesn’t. He swallows, and says, “You’re still not over him, which is fine. You love him. I hope you can fix things with each other in five years.”

He chances meeting Nate’s eyes again, and is struck by the amount of guilt and hurt he finds there. “You’re right,” he says quietly. Now it’s his turn to look away. “Bryan never freaked out when I called him by his goddamn first name.”

His words shoot ice through Jackson’s veins as the door bangs open to reveal Raven.

“There you are,” she pants, leaning against the doorframe with a hand on her bad leg, like she’d been running. “Holy shit Doc, we’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“Why?” Jackson asks, which he realizes in hindsight is a stupid question, but doctor-mode is failing him at the moment.

“Why do you think? You need to get your ass to med bay. Murphy’s waking up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quick chapter to make up for the week i skipped! thank you all so, so much for the kudos and comments! they never fail to make me smile :)
> 
> also i cannot write romance for the life of me so i hope this passes aha


	5. Part Five// Murphy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I trust only you,” Emori says, and Murphy’s emboldened.

Murphy doesn’t want to look at algae ever again, so of course it’s being shoved in his face less than an hour after he regains the ability to hold his head up.

“Oh, fuck me,” he grumbles, his head falling back against the thin pillow. Maybe it’s a touch dramatic, but he figures he’s earned the right to drama considering he’s apparently been comatose for a month after a taste of this stuff.

Harper, who’s holding the bowl out to him like an offering, presses her lips together. “We’ve been eating it twice-a-day for weeks, Murph. We wouldn’t be giving it to you if we didn’t know it was safe.”

“You were awfully quick to last time,” he replies, without any bite because even he knows it’s an unfair argument.

“That was a mistake,” Monty says. Murphy is taken aback by the amount of remorse practically seeping out of him from where he stands at the foot of the bed.

“Stop flashing me the puppy-dog eyes, Green,” Murphy says, “I know I asked for it.”

“Just eat it, Murphy.” Jackson insists. Something’s been off in his tone this whole time, more… exasperated? Stressed? Murphy doesn’t think much of it, but it doesn’t encourage him to eat. “You need to get your strength back.”

“It’s safe, John,” Emori says quietly from his side. He turns his head to look at her, and gives in, accepting the bowl from Harper and downing the vile substance. He presses the back of his hand to his mouth afterwards as someone takes the empty bowl.

“God,” he coughs, wincing.

“Yeup,” Miller sighs.

“You don’t get used to it,” Raven chips in helpfully, sitting by his feet and drawing her good knee up.

Murphy’s eyes slide shut for a moment, and when he opens them the color is drained from the others’ faces.

“Are you guys gonna lighten up or what?” He raises his eyebrows. “Not that I’m against being fawned over.”

Raven relents a breath, rolling her eyes, “Get over yourself,” but there’s a ghost of a smile on her face and relief in her tone that he realizes is reflected in some shape or form in all of them. Monty’s apology, Bellamy’s tense expression, Harper’s chewing on her lower lip. Even Miller and Jackson are looking at Murphy without any disdain- not quite like a friend, but almost. It makes Murphy want to squirm, but he’s also hesitant to open his mouth and say something that could make this weird, wonderful connection fizzle out. Huh.

“Glad you’re okay, Murphy,” Bellamy says as the others disperse, leaving only Emori and Jackson to check his vitals for the millionth time, and the feeling sparks.

“You’re quiet,” Murphy says to Emori, once Jackson is gone too. She’s still perched on the edge of his bed, eyes down. He scoots over so there’s room for her to lay down, but she doesn’t move.

“You were asleep for a month, John,” she says, quiet and serious. 

Murphy knows something is wrong, but he continues to tread the waters the only way he knows how. “So I’ve heard. Is your hair longer?” The hand he lifts to touch her long dark hair is pushed back down by one of hers. 

“I don’t understand.” She looks down at him, and Murphy is surprised to see the sheen to her eyes. Emori doesn’t  _ cry _ \- that’s why they worked, two emotionally-stunted cockroaches against everyone else and the world. A match made in heaven, so be it. He can’t remember the last time he saw her in tears, if there even was a last time. “You almost  _ died _ , and you’re making jokes. Why are you so okay?”

“I’m not,” he says immediately, blinking. “I feel like shit, Emori.”

“You look like it,” Emori says darkly, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Thanks,” he scoffs.

Her body is almost completely turned away with her back to him. “I spent every day here with you,” she whispers. “I thought you were going to die and leave me alone with them.”

“Hey. Emori, look at me. I’m alive, right? I’m not going anywhere.” He rests his hand over hers on the bed, and surprises himself with what he says next. “You know, it doesn’t have to be… us and them anymore. There are nine of us up here for five years, and as much as I hate to admit it, we would be toast without them. Literally.”

Even with her face turned away, he can see her roll her eyes. “I would have been  _ toast  _ when they tried putting me in that oven,” she says. “So sorry if I don’t want to be their friend.”

For a second, the fear Murphy felt when tied to the rocket, watching Emori be carried away to a painful death, flares up and he squeezes her hand, causing her to finally look at him. “But they didn’t,” he says. “Clarke injected herself with the nightblood, and… she gave you her suit when yours broke. She saved all of our asses. Maybe we can call it even?”

“Clarke wasn’t the only one involved.” Emori’s hand curls into a fist under Murphy’s palm. “Raven, Miller and the doctor were in that lab too. If someone on this ship had to die so the rest of you could live, who do you think their first choice would be?”

Murphy goes quiet. If he hadn’t been there when Emori was starving to death, would someone else have tested the algae? He can’t remember anyone else volunteering, and what gave him any reason to have trusted them to? Emori was right- the most he’d ever done for this group of people is retrieve the oxygen generator, and even then Monty had been the hero.

“You see,” Emori’s gaze falls. “It’s always going to be us and them. We’re the expendable ones.”

“They brought you food, didn’t they?” Murphy asks. “When you wouldn’t leave my side for a month.”

“I guess they did,” Emori says. “But it doesn’t make up for how they treated us.”

“But they’re not leaving us to fend for ourselves,” he insists. “I’m not any happier than you are about this. I wanted to kill them when they tried putting you in the radiation chamber, but if I had, we would be dead by now. Do you trust me?”

“I trust only you,” Emori says, and Murphy’s emboldened. 

“Then trust me when I say that as fucked up as it is, we’re going to need them, and show them that they need us. We don’t have to like them, but they need to see that we’re with them.”

“So that’s it?” Emori tilts her head. “Ignoring what they did is the big survivors’ move?”

“They’ve done it for me,” he admits.

Something shifts in her dark eyes and it gives him hope.

“Spacekru, let’s eat!” Bellamy booms from down the hall. 

“What do you say?” Murphy asks, not breaking eye contact with Emori. “Let’s be Spacekru?”

“Spacekru isn’t even a word,” Emori says, and leans down, pressing her lips to Murphy’s before standing. “I might as well go give them a better one, if we’re doing this.”

“I’ll be here,” Murphy smiles a little, watching her leave for the mess hall. Testing the algae did little to help her, but it showed he can rely on the others to look out for Emori, even with all their baggage. Expanding their trust can help in the long-run. Maybe it’s about time he learns he can rely on them himself, too. For the first time in a long time, John Murphy is tired of being in this alone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, thank you for reading and the kudos + comments!
> 
> i know these chapters have been moving slowly, but i promise they'll pick up in pace once these characters all find their place on the ring going forward. it's not easy living on a decrepit spaceship with only nine people ;))


	6. Part Six// Harper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Month four on the Ring.
> 
> She can’t help Monty. She can’t even help herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *TW IN END NOTES

Monty cries in his sleep sometimes.

Usually, he’s mumbling Jasper’s name. On bad nights, he’s _screaming_ , screaming for Jasper. Screaming for Harper.

She can usually get him through the nightmares by pulling him close and carefully rousing him, murmuring reassurances, “I’m here, I’m right here, I love you,” until he settles. But on bad nights she’s paralyzed, watching him sob and wrestle with a pillow, trapped in the worst night of his life, begging Jasper to _wake up, wake up, you don’t have to die I can help you I love you don’t leave me please you’re burning._ On the bad nights all she can do is sit beside him and make sure he doesn’t hyperventilate or hurt himself in his sleep until Bellamy comes to calm him down. On bad nights, Harper hates herself, because hearing him scream freezes her own lungs and renders her useless.

She can’t help Monty. She can’t even help herself.

Nobody brings up Monty’s nightmares, though they all have to be aware of them. Even Murphy doesn’t use them against him, but Murphy’s been more empathetic lately. Harper wishes they would treat her bad days the same.

There are days when she can’t get out of bed, even for mealtimes. When her past traumas play on a loop in her head, and, disgustingly, she wishes she drank the tea with the rest of them. She uses the blankets as a shield from the airlock that seems to be calling out to her. Monty refuses to leave her side when she’s like that, which makes her feel even worse. She doesn’t want him seeing her like that when he already sees Jasper like that every night in his dreams, but she doesn’t have the energy to push him away. They’re not fighting anymore, but she’s still so _tired._

Luckily she can get by most days, but the others don’t back off. Bellamy tries talking to her about it, and so does Miller. Raven keeps her busy with task after task; there always seems to be something needing fixing on the Ring, even after four months. She says she’s fine because she can’t afford not to be. She knows they don’t believe her.

They have a memorial for everyone they lost on the ground. It’s Bellamy’s idea. Maybe one last goodbye will help them all move forward.

It’s the type of event that calls for alcohol, but they don’t have any. They sit in the hall before the Ring’s largest window, because Emori says the dead live amongst the stars and Bellamy likes that sentiment. Murphy says something stupid about how Skaikru’s always lived amongst the stars.

They sit on the floor, everyone except for Echo (who’s rarely seen anyway; the Azgeda spy is basically a ghost), and wait for Bellamy to begin. He seems to struggle for a moment, his expression strained, before looking out the window and saying, “Clarke.” He says nothing but her name, but the word is a eulogy in itself. He continues, “Gina. Maya.”

“Finn,” Raven whispers, catching on. Her eyes are hard. “Wick.”

There’s a beat of silence, before Monty adds, “My parents… Jasper.”

“Monroe,” Miller says.

“Otan,” Emori says. Harper doesn’t know who Otan is, but she sees the pain surfacing in Emori’s eyes as Murphy’s head drops on her shoulder, his arm circling around her.

“Louis,” Harper whispers. “Bryan.”

“What?” Miller looks over at her, the color drained from his face. The floor drops out from under Harper. Does he not know?

“I thought you knew,” she breathes. The others have gone dead silent.

“Bryan’s in the bunker,” Miller denies, but he hardly sounds convinced himself.

“Miller…” she’s at a loss, wishing she could take it back. But that’s the problem, isn’t it? She can’t take anything back. She can’t save anyone. “He stayed in Arkadia. I...I was with him when he died.” _When he killed himself._

“He wasn’t on the list,” Monty realizes.

Miller’s just staring at her. _He’s in shock_.

“Maybe we should finish this another time,” Raven says, looking between them all sadly.

“Don’t,” Miller says, standing abruptly. He won’t look at any of them. “Keep… Keep going without me-”

“Hey-” Jackson reaches up, hand brushing Miller’s arm but Miller jerks away as though burned.

“Just _don’t_!” Miller snaps, voice breaking as he stumbles off down the hall.

Harper stands, her immediate reaction to go follow him, but Bellamy blocks her.

“Just… leave him be for now, Harper,” he says in a low tone.

“I’m…” she trails off, her vision blurring with tears. “I didn’t mean… I thought he _knew_ -” she sinks into Bellamy’s hold, looking at Jackson over his shoulder. “He really thought Bryan was alive all these months?”

Jackson’s pale himself, his troubled gaze flickering between the hallway where Miller disappeared and Harper. “I don’t think he was ever sure himself… I don’t think he wanted to find out, so he chose to believe Bryan had made it… to protect himself from the truth.”

“And I took that choice away from him,” Harper concludes, pulling away from Bellamy.

“You didn’t know,” Monty stands behind her, and she turns to face him, the room spinning with her. He lifts his unfeeling hands to her arms. “You probably saved him from finding out the hard way in five years.”

“No.” Harper shakes her head, stepping out of his hold. She can’t help Monty. She can’t help Miller. Who is she? “Stop defending me.”

“Harper-”

“Jasper and Bryan died for nothing,” she says, her voice trembling. “I was there when they overdosed and I did nothing to stop them. What kind of friend am I?”

“I tried,” Monty says, and her guilt spikes when she sees the tears in his eyes. “They never would have listened.”

“But you tried to make them.” Harper chokes down a sob. “While I supported their decision until the end. Bryan died in my arms, asking if he was doing the right thing and I… I told him he _was_. I lied.” She wraps her arms around herself for comfort she doesn’t deserve. “I knew I was lying to him and lying to myself. That’s why I changed my mind. If I had just quit being so stubborn and admitted it to myself sooner, could I have saved him?” She gasps for air that won’t come. “Could I have saved Jasper?” Would dying have made her a coward? Or did changing her mind do the same thing?

“I don’t blame you,” Monty says with a shrug. Like it’s an easy decision. “I’m just happy you’re alive.”

Harper spreads her arms, a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob escaping her throat. God, she’s so _tired_. “Yeah? Well, I’m not.” She shakes her head. “I’ve been lying about that too. Sorry.”

“I know,” Monty says brokenly. “It’s okay.” His words are like a punch to the gut. 

Harper presses the heels of her palms into her eyes and falls to her knees, weeping. She doesn’t fight it when Monty’s arms wrap around her, but she can’t feel it either. She feels a million miles away. She feels like she’s floating amongst the stars, where she should be.

“We’ll be okay,” Monty murmurs, muffled against her shoulder.

A long time passes before somebody speaks again, and it takes a few seconds for Harper’s sluggish brain to register that it’s Murphy.

“In peace may you leave the shore,” he mumbles distractedly from where he’s entangled with Emori.

“In love may you find the next,” Raven and Jackson join.

“Safe passage on your travels,” Bellamy continues, and they finish in unison, “Until our final journey to the ground.”

“May we meet again,” Monty murmurs into Harper’s hair.

“May we meet again,” they all repeat.

“May we meet again,” Harper whispers.

Bellamy takes a seat beside Monty and Harper on the floor, wrapping an arm around her. Raven lowers herself to the ground on their other side and squeezes Harper’s arm, resting her forehead on Monty’s shoulder.

Harper closes her eyes. She may be floating, but she knows her friends will be her anchor. It might take them telling her it will be okay a thousand times before she believes it, but she’ll listen anyway until the words ring true. She has to.

Harper’s gone numb in her friends' embrace. Monty shudders out a breath, warm against her neck, and it’s all she can feel but it’s enough for her to cling to and hope for the possibility of hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW// Suicidal thoughts and mentions of suicide.
> 
> I know I've been giving many of the characters a rough time, but I didn't want Harper's mental state in s4 to go ignored. I promise next chapter will be a fun one. 
> 
> Thanks as always for the kudos and comments, they inspire me to keep writing!


	7. Part Seven// Monty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Month six on the Ring.
> 
> “Uh, Monty?” Miller’s voice echoes down the hall. “I’m gonna need you not to kill me.”

Monty glares at the elastic around his four fingers. He wills them to move and stretch the band, like Jackson advised. Six months at this and he can’t even feel the elastic. Sometimes the middle finger on his right hand will twitch; Jackson says it’s a good sign, but Monty isn’t as encouraged. It’s not like he’s going to be flipping Murphy off anytime soon, not that that’s what he misses most about having working hands (though after six months of living with Murphy, it’s becoming a real contender).

“Stir counter-clockwise in thirty seconds,” he advises after sparing a glance at Miller, who’s taking a turn at the algae paddles. They’re all expert algae-caretakers now, at least with the surface-level technicalities. Improving on what they had is Monty’s specialty. He comes up with the recipes and the others take turns with the “cooking”. Even Murphy does his share, though that’s most likely out of boredom rather than wanting to contribute.

Miller’s good at the job. He’s strong with the paddles but focused, whereas Bellamy tended to get lost in thought and Murphy went on spiels about how he’d like to be anywhere else.

Monty became numb to the frustration of not being able to do the work himself when he accepted the hopelessness of his condition. Jackson’s a good doctor, but living with his only patient affects his honesty. Monty doesn’t blame him; he did his best, and Monty’s been doing his best with the hand he’s been dealt. He’d be more useless miserable than he is hands-less, so he came to terms with it and moved on within three weeks of being on Ring, which Bellamy calls an “unhealthy coping mechanism” because ever since Harper’s breakdown two months ago he’s been the self-appointed therapist of the group.

At least Harper’s been doing better. Seeing her smile again is a bit of light in the unending darkness. Monty doesn’t know what he’d do without her, paralyzed hands or not.

“Does thirty seconds even make a difference?” Miller asks, panting a little. He’s been at it for hours and the job is physically demanding, or so Monty’s been told.

“Yes,” Monty answers without looking up from his elastic.

“So if I were to stir for an extra second-"

“Murphy-in-a-coma level catastrophe.”

“Cool, so no pressure,” Miller remarks. “Got it.”

Monty smiles dryly as Raven walks through the doorway and makes a beeline for him.

“Thanks, I’ve been looking around for one of these.” She plucks the elastic off of Monty’s fingers and uses it to tie her hair up. Monty mentally thanks her for ending his pathetic battle with the little piece of rubber; at this point he’s only keeping up the exercise to make Jackson happy. “Did Harper cut your hair?” She runs a hand through Monty’s hair, which is much shorter than he’s used to.

“Yeah,” he replies. “How’d she do?”

“Not bad,” Raven nods, slowly rounding his chair for a better look and making Monty a little self conscious. “I could give her some tips.”

“He’d probably rather not end up like Murphy,” Miller calls over, grinning at the recent memory that resulted in Murphy’s new mohawk.

“For the last time, my hand slipped with the clippers.” Raven smirks. “But you can’t say the cut I gave Bellamy wasn’t a masterpiece. Monty, I need you in the computer room. Stat.”

Monty nods, standing. “Thirty seconds, no more and no less,” he reminds Miller as he follows Raven out.

“Got it, have fun with your tech stuff,” Miller replies. 

In the computer room (not exactly a room, just a general area of the Ring that is taken over by the large computer console that Raven’s rigging to control everything on the Ring from oxygen to temperature) Monty takes in the information being displayed across multiple screens. “Is it the radio again?”

So far getting in contact with the bunker has been a dud. However, every now and then their readings of the signal will spike; it could be that someone on the ground is trying to make contact with them, but it’s more likely that this is just static, as meaningless as Monty’s finger twitching.

“The radio’s as dead as ever,” Raven sighs, picking up something from the captain’s chair. “Come here, I’ve got a present for you.”

She’s fastening something around Monty’s wrist and fingers before he gets the chance to see what it is.

As Raven moves on to his other hand, Monty examines the metal exoskeleton stabilizing his wrist and fingers. “A brace,” he realizes.

“Cool, huh?” She says, admiring her handiwork. “Courtesy of the scrap metal Emori’s been scavenging.” She smiles. “Now we can be brace buddies.”

The braces hold his hands in a rigid position, which is a hell of a lot better than them flopping around uselessly. He moves forward, hugging Raven tightly. “Thank you.”

Raven laughs softly in his ear, hugging him back.

“Uh, Monty?” Miller’s voice echoes down the hall. “I’m gonna need you not to kill me.”

Monty pulls away from Raven, hurrying back to the algae farm, where Miller is in the same position Monty left him in, looking sheepish.

“I might’ve dropped the paddle… and let the algae sit four seconds overtime while I fished it out of the tank,” Miller explains.

Monty checks the monitors, his teeth sinking into his lower lip as he reads off the effects. “Okay. Okay, we can fix this.”

“Shit. I’m sorry,” Miller says, dismounting the tank as Monty has Raven shut off the machines. 

Monty turns to him. “Accidents happen. We just need to figure out what the damage did to the culture, which is hard-“

“Without testing it,” Raven finishes, always five steps ahead of everyone. She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Here we go again.”

“No. No one’s testing anything,” Monty shakes his head. He would never forgive himself for the mistake he made with Murphy. What’s even worse, Murphy doesn’t blame him for it. He takes jabs at Monty for everything else; his music taste, for working them too hard, even for “making a lot of noise” with Harper, but he seems to have forgotten the one time Monty actually almost killed him. Murphy’s proven he’s not above holding grudges, so it doesn’t add up.

“What other choice do we have? It's not like we have another food supply,” Raven says.

“Why don’t you do what you did with the algae Murphy tried?” Miller suggests. “Separate the… bad strain, or whatever it was.”

“That was a different procedure. Renewing this algae will take at least ten days,” Monty says, beginning to pace.

“We can’t not eat for ten days.” Raven rests her hands on her hips, eyes searching the monitors. “We barely made it six last time.”

“Screw that. I’ll test it,” Miller says. “It’s my fault the formula’s off.”

“No. It’s my algae,” Monty decides.

“So what? Your algae, your responsibility? You’ve been spending too much time with Bellamy.” Raven smirks, but her eyes are working through the problem. “I’ll drink it just to save us an argument.”

“You and Monty are essential personnel.” Miller crosses his arms. “So is Jackson. If something happened to any one of you three, we’d be screwed even more than we already are on this damn ship- which is _very_. Murphy and Emori are out of the question, even if they volunteered. They’ve been through enough. I think we can all agree that Harper’s out of the question as well, which leaves Bellamy and his self-sacrificial bullshit.” Miller sighs. “Which is why we’re not letting him in on this decision. There’s no need to get the others involved. We’re getting it over with here, and now, and I’m testing the algae because as the most logical choice, I’m volunteering. I wouldn’t feel right if it wasn’t me.” He rotates his shoulders, and his gaze drops a little. “Are we done?”

Monty’s lips part, and he presses them back together, his head pounding and coming up empty. “You know I want to argue.”

“We would if we could,” Raven sighs.

“Save it,” Miller says with finality. “I need a cup.”

Miller drinks the algae without any fuss, and they stand around the tank, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“How do you feel?” Monty asks for the ninth time in three minutes.

“Fine,” Miller replies, leaning against the wall.

“Murphy started feeling the effects after around two minutes,” Monty says, remembering how Murphy was fine one second, and dropping the next, going clammy and feverish in the time it took to set him down. “It’s been nearly four.”

“I still feel normal,” Miller reinstates, doing nothing to calm Monty’s unease.

“Maybe we should get Jackson in here. I don’t know where he is, in the time it takes to find him something could change-”

“Or it won’t, and we’ll have dragged the others into this for nothing,” Raven says, spinning Monty’s abandoned chair around and sitting. She quirks an eyebrow at Monty. “Mr. ‘Ye of little faith’.”

Another minute goes by. Then two. Then ten, and Miller’s still upright against the wall, the tension deflating from his shoulders as time passes.

“I think we’re good,” Raven says, puffing out her cheeks with an exhale.

“I think we have to give it at least an hour,” Monty worries.

“Keep me company if you want, but I think Raven’s right,” Miller shrugs. “As anticlimactic as it is.”

Monty squeezes his eyes shut. “Oh my god, _do not_ jinx this.”

Raven laughs shakily, and Miller joins her, and then all three of them are laughing because Miller is right; it does feel absurdly anticlimactic, and thank god for it. They’ve all had enough drama for a lifetime.

“Actually,” Miller laughs, “I feel kinda buzzed.”

Monty’s laughter drops off sharply. “Buzzed? As in-”

“Good-buzzed,” Miller elaborates, grinning. “Moonshine-buzzed.”

Monty blinks, piecing this information in with the algae formula in his head. Before anyone can stop him, he picks up Miller’s cup, clumsily balancing it between his two braced hands, and tips the rest of the contents into his mouth. 

Raven’s eyebrows shoot up, her grin falling. “Monty, what-”

“Give it a couple minutes,” Miller says.

Raven blanches. “You just said we’re not out of the woods.”

The “buzz” Miller referred to settles in, almost immediately draping an unmistakable haze over everything. Either this stuff is really strong, or Monty’s out of practice, but he runs the formula in his head one more time. It’s not impossible…

“No way,” He murmurs to himself. “No way.”

“Yes way,” Miller plucks the cup out of Monty’s grasp and sets it down on the counter with an excited flourish. “Monty, tell me this is what I think it is.”

“Okay,” Raven says, dragging out the word, “you two are officially scaring me. Care to let me in on the big secret?”

“I think,” Monty replies slowly, wrapping his head around the prospect with each word, “Miller accidentally created alcoholic algae.”

Raven looks between them both, as though trying to gouge if they’re joking. When she apparently determines they aren’t, she turns to the algae tank, as though speaking to it. “Oh,” she says. “This is gonna be _fun_ .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bit of a filler chapter, get ready for some real fun in the next one ;)) I think it's gonna be a Bellamy chapter too
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, your comments and kudos keep me writing!
> 
> also if anyone's interested i wrote some really depressing season 7 spec that i might post so look out for that coming soon
> 
> also sorry my writing isn't the greatest, particularly in this chapter, i don't edit much,.,. i kinda just write without a plan whoops


	8. Part Eight// Bellamy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Month six on the Ring. 
> 
> Raven was right, they’re in no rush to be a family, even with six years laid out ahead of them. But something’s different tonight (definitely the alcohol).

The others are smiling, and for the first time in a long time, Bellamy finds himself smiling along with them. Maybe it’s the alcohol. 

Murphy insisted on blaring music, so their gathering in the common area- a large stateroom just off of the mess hall, the only one with a couch and a television- has become something resembling a party. At first, it was undeniably uncomfortable, everyone milling around in the room with their cups of Monty’s brew with occasional exclamations on Murphy’s part regarding his thoughts on a song. It’s been a long time since any of them actively _partied_ \- Bellamy questions whether Emori ever had, though he figures the Grounder’s ideas of social gatherings are starkly different from Skaikru. The last party Bellamy attended was Jasper’s in Arkadia, and he doesn’t like to think about that. It’s even stranger being in a room with all eight of them (as usual, discounting Echo) for a reason that’s not their lives being in imminent danger- the last and only time that happened was the memorial. Raven was right, they’re in no rush to be a family, even with six years laid out ahead of them.

But something’s different tonight (definitely the alcohol). Raven and Jackson are enthralled in teaching Emori some kind of drinking game on the bed, while Miller and Murphy are bent over the music player, arguing over song preference; Monty and Harper are immune to everyone else, alternating between slow and fast dancing to the music.

Bellamy sits back with his algae, savoring the newfound closeness of the group and thinking of ways to make it last, when Raven calls over to him.

“Bellamy! Get over here!”  
He turns his grin to her, about to wave her off when he catches movement out of the corner of his eye.

Echo is standing in the doorway, her expression unreadable. Her eyes flit around the room, before landing on Bellamy. 

“Echo,” he says. If the others notice, they don’t show it; Bellamy sees Monty glance over but Harper murmurs something to him under her breath and he quickly removes his gaze. _They don’t want to scare her off,_ he realizes. Echo hasn’t found her place in this territory that is foreign to her, and is vastly outnumbered; Emori is the only other Grounder, and she firmly believes Echo will want nothing to do with her due to her mutation.

They’ve discussed how to incorporate Echo in the group, for sure- Bellamy might never forgive her for trying to kill Octavia, but he’s civil with her. However, Echo’s shown no sign over the past six months that she’s willing to coexist with them. She rarely leaves her room, except to jog around the ship. Sometimes, when Bellamy’s wandering the ship during their designated “night” time (when the lights go off on a timer) he finds Echo standing in front of the Ring’s largest window, still as a statue. Just staring at whatever happens to be on the other side- the stars or the decimated planet.

He does feel sorry for her; she’s lonely. Maybe even afraid. No one can help her if she keeps isolating herself, and as Bellamy watches her hover in the doorway, he wonders if she’s finally accepted their situation.

Looking straight ahead, she walks past him, past the others (who don’t gawk but have gone quiet) and to the algae tank, scooping a bowl for herself.

Okay, they forgot to feed her.

“It’s alcoholic,” Monty blurts as Echo’s almost out the door again.

She pauses, looking comically out of place with her steely eyes and stiff shoulders as the music plays on.

_Uptown girl_

_She’s been living in her white bread world_

_As long as anyone with hot blood can_

_And now she’s looking for a downtown man…_

“It’s still nutritional,” Monty babbles. “Just take it slow, okay?”

Echo eyes him, and nods slightly. “Okay.”

“Echo,” Bellamy joins in. “Why don’t you stay?”

The corners of her mouth turn down, and Bellamy’s sure she’s going to ignore his offer.

But she doesn’t. Astonishingly, she takes her algae across the room and sits, keeping her eyes down.

She’s ready, Bellamy thinks. It’s a start.

The volume in the room slowly picks back up as everyone returns to what they’d been doing before, not drawing attention to this new development which is probably the wise choice. They’ve given Echo an opening, it’s best if Echo takes it in her own time. Forcing acquaintanceship on her could easily backfire into her rejecting them again.

“Everyone to the bed, we’re playing a game!” Raven announces.

“Do we have to?” Murphy whines, flopping on the bed and knocking into Jackson.

“Yes,” Emori says. “I want to play, John.”

“So that means I have to?” Murphy asks.

“Yes,” Emori and Raven answer in unison.

Miller joins them in sitting on the bed, as does Bellamy, sparing another glance at Echo, who predictably doesn’t move.

“What game?” Harper asks, drawing her legs up and resting her chin on her knees.

“Never Have I Ever,” Raven says. “Rules are simple. Someone says ‘never have I ever’ done something and everyone who has done that thing drinks.”

Bellamy vaguely remembers watching kids play this game on the ground at Unity Day. It’s silly, but he remembers Echo watching them in the corner and chooses to partake. His alcohol-foggy brain figures seeing them play a game as a functioning group will encourage her to join.

Maybe they also deserve a few rounds of a stupid game after everything.

“I’ll start,” Bellamy offers. “Never have I ever been thrown in the Skybox.”

There are groans and grumbles from Murphy, Monty, Harper and Miller as they all take a swig of their algae.

“Nice one!” Raven laughs, high-fiving him. “Taking down the delinquents.”

“When you say it like that it makes us sound like we’re a band or something,” Miller remarks.

“Never have I ever been in a threesome,” Harper says, and Bellamy’s entire face burns as he takes a swig of his drink.

“Okay, point taken.” Monty grins as Raven cackles. “Don’t come for Harper.”

“Never have I ever been born in space,” Emori says, causing all of them to drink.

Murphy nods approvingly. “Okay. Never have I ever had sex with someone from the Ark.” He grins smugly watching everyone take a drink.

“Never have I ever cooked something,” Raven says, and Murphy and Emori each put a finger down.

“Was that a compliment, Reyes?” Murphy asks, and Raven rolls her eyes.

“Oh please, I was just targeting you two.”

“Wait, where did you learn how to cook?” Miller asks. “We got rations on the Ark.”

“Yes, Miller, I’m aware. I actually lived there.” Murphy rolls his eyes.

“You were assigned to help in the kitchens, right? When we were in the group home,” Jackson says.

Murphy nods, taking a long sip of his algae.

“Wait, you two know each other from before?” Miller looks between the two.

“Yeah, contrary to popular belief, the poor orphans of the Ark don’t immediately land in the Skybox,” Murphy says, then reconsiders, “Though that’s often where they end up. Take me, for example. I didn’t make it five months in the group home.”

Bellamy’s thoughts turn to Charlotte, who told him she got arrested almost immediately following her parents’ execution, and he realizes Murphy’s probably not exaggerating. His stomach turns when he remembers Murphy’s history with the little girl, and his own history with Murphy. It almost makes him feel guilty when he pictures Charlotte’s face, her wide, frightened eyes gleaming in a dark cave. He can’t imagine how Murphy feels, if he feels anything at all about what happened. That’s a topic for another night. Now they’re playing a drinking game together, bad blood far behind them. 

He feels Echos eyes on him and takes a few gulps of his algae.

Luckily, Harper interrupts.

“Please, no more food talk while we’re drinking this,” she regards her algae with vague disgust, then pecks Monty’s cheek. “No offense. Never have I ever ridden a horse.”

They continue playing until Harper’s proven she can do a handstand, Miller’s sung, Emori’s interrogated a very pleased Raven on the ship’s mechanics and for some reason Bellamy’s feeling like a tired dad who needs to put his kids to bed.

Monty, Harper and Miller are all asleep on the bed, Harper’s head on Monty’s chest and her legs crossed over Miller’s. Murphy and Jackson departed to get more algae and stayed in that area of the room, conversing quietly. Bellamy half-listens to Raven explaining electricity to Emori for a while before noticing Echo crossing the room and getting up to catch her at the door.

“Have fun?” He asks.

If the alcohol affected her at all, it doesn’t show. Bellamy wonders, not for the first time, if the stony expression he’s only seen her wear reflects how she feels on the inside. His memories from inside the cage in Mount Weather are dim, but he remembers the desperation she displayed then, and the fear before they went up into space. She’s human, just like the rest of them. Maybe, if they get to know her, that’ll be reason enough to feel like they’re on the same side. They’re already in the same boat.

“Your game was strange,” she says, her eyes dark despite the subject matter.

“But you stayed,” he points out, caution thrown to the wind. They don’t need to treat her like a wild animal on the verge of fleeing- that’s the opposite of everything Echo is, and they shouldn’t reduce her to it.

She makes eye contact with him for the first time that night. He holds her gaze and doesn’t say anything.

“I’ve mourned my people and the ground enough,” she says. “There’s no bringing them back. I’m sure you understand that.”

Bellamy’s immediate reaction is to push down the thoughts of Clarke that rise up. Of Octavia. But instead, he lets them take over, forming a lump in his throat that he has to speak around. “I do,” he tells Echo. “Will we see you at breakfast tomorrow?”

She looks over his shoulder at the others, then back at him. There’s a flash of the sadness he feels in her expression before it softens, barely. “As long as there are no idiotic games.”

He chuckles, and the corners of her lips curl up into a smile that brushes her eyes.

“Goodnight, Bellamy.”

He watches her walk down the hall towards her room, and looks back at the others. For the first time, becoming a family- if dysfunctional- feels in reach. He’s not going to give it up.

  
  
  


  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> like i've mentioned, i don't have many plans for the direction of this fic so i'm open to suggestions in the comments!
> 
> thanks so much for reading and commenting!


	9. Part Nine// Miller

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Month six on the Ring. 
> 
> He’s had time, too much time, to wring himself out of grief. But Bryan’s still there, his memory thudding dully like a second heartbeat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *TW IN END NOTES

Jackson’s kind of strange.

Not in a bad way; they’re all weird in some way or another. Bellamy’s got his whole Greek-mythology obsession and Raven’s first language seems to be code and Monty talks to the algae because “it makes it taste better”. Miller won’t deny his own quirks (rest in peace his lucky beanie) but he can’t help but notice Jackson’s the more time they spend in this floating sardine-can. 

For one, he never seems to sleep in a bed. There are enough staterooms available for all of them, and Miller’s pretty sure Jackson claimed one at the beginning. Despite that, Miller’s compiled quite the list of every odd place he’s found Jackson asleep all over the Ring. Med bay, the algae farm, in the captain’s chair, more and counting. Like it’s a goal, or a game he’s playing with himself, to have slept in every corner of the Ring by the time they go down. 

If it’s that, Miller doesn’t blame him; he’s killed time wandering rooms, going through drawers at the possibility of finding something of interest to show-and-tell the group at mealtime. He’s brutally losing a sort of silent competition with Emori over who can scavenge the best stuff. He swears they could look through the same drawer, and he would find only a paperclip whereas she would find a piece of technology vital to Raven’s ship repairs and probably a whole new rocket without even trying. He hopes he isn’t losing his touch.

Miller’s feet take him to the mess hall on yet another stroke of boredom after showering. He figures he might drink some water, but he’d have to check with Raven first to make sure that getting a glass of water wouldn’t cause the whole reclaimer to implode.

He allows his mind to wander and somehow ends up standing on one of the tables. He gauges the distance between this table and the next and swings his arms, making the leap and sticking the landing. The next is a little farther, but he doesn’t think much of it. He jumps and his foot catches on the edge, causing him to stumble and crash to his knees with a thud.

“Shit!” 

“What the-”

He leans over the edge of the tabletop and comes face-to-face with Jackson.

“What are you doing?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“Were you… jumping?”

“Were you sleeping?”

“Yeah.” Jackson rearranges himself, making room for Miller to slide under the table with him. “Or, I was reading and then fell asleep.”

“As if reading under a table is any more normal.” Miller snorts, reaching over him to pick up the paperback by his hand. “ _Ender’s Game_?”

Jackson hums. “I can’t imagine the mess hall makes a great trampoline park.”

“We’ve never been to a trampoline park, what do you know?” Miller says, examining the book’s cover. “Aliens, huh?”

“Not just aliens… but yeah.” Jackson rubs the back of his neck, smiling. “It’s a good book.”

“You’ve read it before?”

“And the sequels. Except for the last one, the Ark library didn’t have it.” He shrugs noncommittally, but his excitement is obvious and, honestly, kind of infatuating.

Miller thumbs through the pages, yellowed with age. A couple of them slip out onto the floor. He scrambles to pick them up. “Ah, sorry-”

“You’re okay,” Jackson laughs a little, taking the pages and the book from him and fixing them back in order. “Happens all the time.” He hands the book back to him. “You can borrow it, if you want. It’s a better cure for boredom than table-hopping.”

“Wait until you try it, I think I’m onto something,” He says, turning the book over in his hands. “Nah, it’d probably take me the whole five years to read the first page. I’ve got this thing where letters and words get jumbled up and move around.”

“You’re dyslexic?” Jackson asks with no judgement, just curiosity. 

“Yeah. Made school a living hell.”

But it wasn’t really, because Bryan used to volunteer to read aloud in his place. The knight in _fucking_ shining-armor he was to anyone who needed help. 

He never would have gotten him back. The boy Bryan read for was not the one found on the ground, no matter how hard Miller grappled for those broken pieces of himself to give to him. No matter how hard Miller tried to convince himself there’s anything left of those pieces to be saved. Still tries. 

His neck creaks from being hunched over, so he lies down, staring up at the table’s smooth underside. “Sounds like a cool book, though.”

Jackson goes quiet. He does that a lot- sparks, like lights before a power-out, and fades, throwing up a wall that Miller’s given up trying to get around. This is where the conversation will end, and he’s fine with that- at least the silence feels natural.

Then Jackson breaks it, his voice tinged with uncertainty. “Are you okay?”

Miller tries to narrow down what he could possibly be talking about. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he says. “It sounded like I hit the table a lot harder than I actually did-”  
“No,” Jackson interrupts, then quickly, “I mean, that’s good, I’m glad I’m not fixing up your... shattered kneecaps... or whatever right now, you should really be more careful, but…” he sighs, regrouping and shedding his nervous edge. “I was talking about Bryan.”

“Oh.” Miller thinks for a moment, though he doesn’t need to. Bryan’s been at the forefront of his mind since Harper revealed he’s dead. He’s had time, too much time, to wring himself out of grief. But Bryan’s still there, his memory thudding dully like a second heartbeat.

He tells Jackson what he told Bellamy, and Harper, and Monty. “I’m as okay as I can be.”

“Seems like there’s a lot of that going around recently,” Jackson says. “I know you’ve had a couple months to process it, I just wanted to ask because I know it... the hurting doesn't go away after time’s passed. I understand if it’s not something you want to talk with me about, because…” he trails off, almost shyly, and clears his throat. “Um. Yeah. But you can be honest.”

It takes Miller a minute to respond. He struggles to cram his thoughts into words, to sum up every feeling he’s had about Bryan in a few sentences. But grief isn’t neat like that; when he opens his mouth, it begins to pour out of him. “You were right, when you said I still loved him. He couldn’t love me anymore, but I still wish he was alive so he could hate my guts and find someone who’s better for him. He deserved the life we talked about, raising chickens on a farm and growing old and shit. But instead, he killed himself because he thought he had to.” He draws in a deep, rattling breath before continuing. “He never would have come to space with us anyway. Not unless everyone who didn’t make the list could come too. He’d be horrified that I went up without even thinking about that, but it doesn’t matter, I should’ve still asked him, or known that he wasn’t on the list, or dragged him up here with me. He was always thinking of other people, but as long as I could guarantee his safety, I didn’t give a damn about anyone else. I know it’s selfish, but now he’s dead, and… and it’s _my_ fault, because I cut him out too soon.”

Miller’s chest grows too tight and his head begins to pound. He squeezes his eyes shut until he can get himself back under control, lingering in the feeling of being emptied-out.

Jackson’s quiet, giving him the time he needs.

Miller opens his eyes, blinking hard and exhaling.

“It’s not your fault,” Jackson says.

Miller’s not looking at his face, but he can imagine what it must look like now, frowning a little and worried and always so damn _gentle_. For someone so locked down, he’s a pretty easy person to read.

“You said it yourself, you couldn’t have chosen for him. There’s only so much you can do to save a person. No matter how things ended, he had to have known you loved him.”

The way he says it, like it’s something he fully believes and not just something he’s saying to comfort Miller, is enough for Miller to want to believe it too. 

Miller nods, not trusting himself to speak. Another few minutes pass before his throat finally unclenches. “Thanks,” he says, because he doesn’t have anything better to say. “You could, uh, give Bellamy for a run for his money as the therapist.”

“I think I’ll let him keep that title,” Jackson says, and Miller finally lifts his head to see that he’s smiling softly. Has his calve been resting over Jackson’s foot this entire time?

“I’m sorry I was an asshole,” he says, these words coming easy.

“When, in the kitchen?” Jackson asks, tilting his head.

“Yeah.” Miller props himself up on his elbow. “You were right about me not being over Bryan, and I’d known it but hearing it out loud freaked me out and I didn’t mean to take it out on you. Your business is your own and however much or how little you share with me is entirely up to you. I’m sorry if I pressured you into a relationship you didn’t want.”

“What if I do?” 

The immediacy of Jackson’s reply catches Miller off-guard. He blinks slowly, his mouth pulling into a grin. “That’d be good too.”

“Yeah?” Jackson laughs nervously, shifting his foot under Miller’s leg but not removing it.

“Yeah,” Miller echoes, laughing as well. For the first time in a long time, it feels real, and he realizes he’s actually happy, which felt unattainable just this morning. “So, just so we’re clear, I can call you Jackson?”

Jackson stills, and Miller’s worried he’s struck the same chord as last time. Then he shakes his head, visibly making an effort to un-tense. “Yeah, about that. I didn’t mean to have such a strong reaction when you used my first name, I just hadn’t heard it in a long time, and… didn’t expect it, I guess.”

“No one calls you by your first name?” Miller asks, stricken by how lonely that sounds.

Jackson presses his lips together, continuing to shake his head. Then he stops, fixing his eyes on their overlapping body parts. “I’ve never kept a lot of people close,” he confesses. “My dad’s name was Eric too, and that’s what he called me. After my mom died it was just me and him for a few years, and, um…” his gaze drops into his lap, where he’s fidgeting with his hands. “Well, he’d always been a jerk, but after she died it got… bad.” He shrugs. “I was just a kid, there wasn’t a lot I could do besides get good at patching myself up.” He smiles wryly. “Which gave me a hell of an edge when I applied to be Abby’s apprentice. He got floated for punching a guard over something dumb, but yeah. He’s why I don’t like my first name. I’ve just been Jackson ever since.”

Jackson’s story is somehow the last thing Miller expects, even though shitty parents were all too common on the Ark; stealing a stupid wind-up toy to make Bryan laugh got him thrown in the Skybox, but the guard and the council were apparently above handling abuse and neglect. He knew a handful of delinquents who were affected on the ground, and Murphy and Raven, who all came out hardened and bearing the jagged edges of their situations. He hasn’t seen that side of Jackson, but maybe that's because he hasn’t been looking hard enough to see the cracks. 

It hits him, not for the first time, how lucky he is to have a dad who loves him, and is alive. He wishes he could let his dad know how grateful he is.

“Is that… the first time you’ve ever told anyone?” He asks.

“Pretty much. I never told Abby, but I think she just kind of knew. I owe a lot to her.” He frowns at his hands, and Miller knows he’s not the only one missing someone in the bunker. “It’s not like I felt like I had to keep it a secret or anything, it’s just…” 

“Nobody’s asked,” Miller concludes.

Jackson lifts his head a little to look at him.

“Thanks,” Miller says quietly. “For telling me.” Being seen, and heard, and _known_ : more luxuries Miller’s taken for granted, that shouldn’t even be luxuries at all. “You deserve for people to know you.” He tries to say it with as much conviction as Jackson had when he told him Bryan’s death wasn’t his fault, and as the words leave his mouth he realizes trying wasn’t necessary at all. He believes it, and he wants- no, _needs_ \- Jackson to believe it too. He just does. 

“Thanks for asking.” Jackson’s lips twitch, and this time he’s smiling. However, it’s gone before Miller can return it. “You’re bleeding.”  
Miller follows Jackson’s gaze and realizes there are, indeed, twin crimson-stains on each of his knees. Huh. He hadn’t noticed in the dim lighting. “Must’ve scraped them after all,” he sighs. “Damn. That’s going to be hard to get out of these pants with just water.”

“C’mon Spiderman, I can disinfect those scrapes in med bay.”

“Spiderman? Seriously?”

“Leaping valiantly from table to table-”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Fierce protector of the mess hall-”

“ _Jax_.” The dork. Miller rolls his eyes, laughing, and it really does feel like starting over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW// references to suicide + child abuse
> 
> y'all already know how grateful i am for your comments and kudos but im gonna say it again.
> 
> thank you so so so so much.
> 
> sorry this chapter is kinda rough, writing these two is surprisingly hard.
> 
> i wasn't planning on giving jax a backstory it just kinda happened so i hope it's ok and true to character and all.
> 
> Miller's my fave but he is sooo difficult to characterize. thanks for giving me SO MUch to work with, Jroth.
> 
> Whoops sorry got a little bitter there. S7's finally getting to me i think, but it's ok we're gonna be optimistic and look forward to the new episodes everything is gonna be fiNE
> 
> i doubt anyone read all of that but im gonna end this here before this turns into an essay, thanks again lovely readers!!


	10. Part Ten// Murphy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Over a year on the Ring.
> 
> “Hey,” Bellamy says, matching his stride. “You okay?”  
> “I’m not sick, if that’s what you’re asking,” Murphy snaps without meaning to.  
> Bellamy presses on, unaffected. “So that’s not why your hands are shaking?”

Murphy stands in the doorway of Earth Monitoring, fighting the twinge in his gut as he watches Emori assist Raven. The sensation has been growing steadily over several months, jealousy gnawing away at him. _ Jealousy _ \- the perfect word to encapsulate all that he is feeling, even if he won’t admit it.

Bellamy, Raven, Monty, and Harper can talk about their feelings all they want, pick apart every nightmare, run to each other for every flashback and panic attack and nightmare, but they can leave him out of it. Hugging out his pain isn’t how Murphy rolls.

Hurt feelings won’t kill him; there isn’t anything on this blasted hunk of metal that could. Well, save for Raven’s endless list of parts of the ship that would certainly mean a slow and painful death should they malfunction. 

A little over a year of being up on the Ring, he’d have thought it would have received the “all-clear” to sustain nine people by now. But there are still power outages every other week that plunge them into freezing darkness, or the water reclaimer will stop reclaiming, or the air vents will get clogged, and Murphy is strongly reminded, yet again, that the Ark was abandoned for a reason. 

He will give credit to Raven though, on account of they’re not dead yet. Emori too.

God, he’s proud of her. He’s too selfish to admit it, he gets too heated every time he tries because that’s when the jealousy hits and takes over, and he doesn’t like her seeing that side of him; that dark place in his brain where all his unchecked emotions live that bristle when her gentle hand brushes the scars on his neck or a door shuts too suddenly.

So he ignores the strain it puts on their relationship, and he avoids watching her like this: in her new element, her eyes lighting up every time Raven gives her praise. The way they used to when she described to him elaborate plans to scam travelers. 

Back then he thought the mischief that sparked in her eyes and electrified her smile were for him only, but he came to realize that was because he was the only one around to see. Now she’s looking at everybody; apprenticing Raven, asking Bellamy for stories about the Ark and all the nerd-shit he’s into, playing cards with Monty, training with Echo, sharing indecipherable inside jokes with Harper, bantering with Miller and Jackson, giving them all lessons in Trig. The list goes on and on of the connections she’s made over the past year since he asked her to trust him enough to trust them. At the time, it had been a survivor's move, on par with his relationship with Ontari, so that if the others were ever looking to hang-  _ float _ \- anyone someday, it wouldn’t be either of them. 

Not to say he feels the same as he felt with Ontari. He knows he’s gotten closer to the others too, even cares about them in some manner that probably isn’t as twisted as it feels. Making friends isn’t hard for Echo, whose cold nature somehow fits into their patched-together group just fine.

Bellamy told him that his problem is feeling like he doesn’t have a purpose anymore, so he’s creating these unnecessary struggles for himself. Murphy retorted that that’s a load of bullshit, and, plainly put, Bellamy was saying he’s miserable because he’s bored. Which isn’t far from the truth, but he’s miserable for a lot of other reasons, too. And he doesn’t need to be psychoanalyzed. 

Raven’s voice disrupts his thoughts.

“You just gonna stand there like a creep, Murphy?”

She’s absorbed in her work, fingers flying over the keyboard. The clacking sends spikes of irritation up his spine.

Emori doesn’t even glance at him. She’s wearing headphones and carefully adjusting dials on the radio. Day four-hundred-and-fifty-six of trying to get a signal from the bunker, to no avail.

“Monty says soup’s on,” he says, fighting distaste from leaking into his voice for Emori’s sake.

Raven’s got radar-ears for calling him out though, and his tone still catches her attention. “Okay,” she says slowly, putting a hold on whatever she’s doing to stare at him, eyebrows slightly raised. “Anything else you want to share with the class?”

He grinds his teeth, rocking on his heels, and shakes his head, eyes traveling up to the monitor. “Isn’t turning dials kind of pointless? If there’s too much interference on the ground, there’s nothing you can do about it from up here.”

Raven tilts her head in acknowledgment as she stretches her bad leg before reaching over to tap Emori’s shoulder. “Nothing I do is pointless,” she says, standing. “Frequencies are finicky. Even with interference, if we can hit the right one we might get a signal.”

Murphy hums, pretending to care, as Emori removes her headphones and looks back at Raven limping past him.

“I think I might skip mealtime and keep working,” she tells him.

He’s about to argue, because mealtimes are the only time he sees her anymore and like hell he’ll lose that too, but then he notices how pale she is, and the sheen of sweet clinging to her skin, and his frustration melts away. “Hey, are you feeling okay?” He asks, going over to her. She looks even worse up close.

“I’m not feeling great.” She rubs her hands against her thighs, looking down. “Hence why I’m skipping food.”

“No, Emori, if you’re sick you gotta take a break,” he says, and she shakes her head.

“I’m fine, John,” she says quickly. “Go eat.”

“You don’t look good, I don’t want to leave you alone,” he protests, and she sighs, closing her eyes and tilting her head back.

“John-”

“You’ve been working too much, and not getting enough sleep. You’re not part supercomputer like Raven, you gotta-”

“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do, John,” she seethes, rising to her feet and glaring at him. “I’m sick of you taking your problems out on me and my choice to be useful, just because you don’t-” her words come to a halt suddenly, one arm wrapping around her abdomen and her other hand flying to her mouth, muffling a gag that makes his own stomach churn.

Ignoring his burning face, he runs his hand up and down her arm in a soothing motion. “‘Mori, you’re about to hurl all over the computer,” he says, as gently as possible, securing an arm around her. “And then we’ll really be screwed. Let’s get you out of here, alright?”

She drops her hand with a heavy sigh, leaning against him, which he takes as a surrender.

Down the hall they run into Bellamy, who’s carrying a stack of towels under one arm and a sloshing bucket of water in the other. He stops walking when he notices Emori, grimacing. “Emori too?”

“Too?” Murphy parrots. “Do you know where Jackson is?” 

“Med bay,” Bellamy replies. “Miller, Monty, Harper, and Echo are all sick.”

“Fuck,” Murphy hisses through his teeth. “That damn algae-”

“It’s not the algae, we’ve been eating from the same batch for a week,” Bellamy says. “Jackson thinks it’s a virus.”

Great, a virus that just decides to show up when everything’s finally under control. Murphy doesn’t believe in God, but if there is a higher power they might as well send in the hostile extraterrestrials to hijack the station while they’re at it.

“Fantastic,” he grumbles, and Emori groans, her head lolling into his shoulder.

“Now is not the time to be an asshole, John.”

He supposes she’s right, but something about the remark makes his chest twinge; it’s a comment he would have expected from any of the others, but not from her.

He follows Bellamy, shuffling Emori to the med bay. By the time they get there he’s practically carrying her, her feet dragging across the threshold.

Med bay is a common room they turned into a medical center because the actual medical center on the Ring is the size of a closet. The real Ark Station Medical went down in the crash, but each station had a small medical center- essentially a nurse’s office- for minor ailments and injuries. Of course, the whole space station was running on empty by the time they went down, so the only medical supplies they had were the scraps left in the medical center and around the Ring, what they packed from Becca’s lab, and what Jackson had on him when they went up. 

They’d moved a couple cots and some tables into the common room and a small shelving unit to store supplies. They never counted on over half of them getting sick, leaving Miller and Monty lying on the floor with Harper and Echo on the only cots. They all seem to be in the same or in a worse state than Emori, hardly conscious or in the middle hacking up a lung. The sound makes Murphy wince. 

Jackson rushes over when he sees them, replacing Murphy’s arm around Emori’s waist to help her inside. For a moment Murphy doesn’t let go, until Jackson says “I’ve got her, stay in the hall.”  
“It’s a little late for a quarantine, don’t you think?” he comments, watching Jackson set Emori down on the sheet beside Monty.

Emori’s eyes shutter closed, her chest heaving from her trek. 

Murphy feels pinpricks of fear, remembering the deadly virus that overtook the dropship- the one he delivered. The metallic scent of blood burning his nostrils, leaking from his eyes, splattering thickly against the floor.

Luckily, there’s no blood in sight, but that could change. Illness is as finicky as radio frequencies. He should know.

“Probably, but there’s no reason to risk it,” Jackson says, just as Raven shoulders past Murphy.

“Move,” she says, her voice congested. Had it been like that five minutes ago, or had he been too annoyed to notice? “M’sick too.”

He steps back, giving her a wide berth as Jackson takes in Bellamy’s delivery of towels and water. “Anything I can do?”

Bellamy stares at him intently, and Murphy’s about to be offended by the surprise in his expression but Jackson apparently doesn’t have time for it.

“Go fill up some canteens with water,” Jackson says, wetting one of the towels in the bucket. “Bellamy can help you carry them back.”

“Got it,” Bellamy says, and he and Murphy start off down the hall.

“Hey,” Bellamy says, matching his stride. “You okay?”  
“I’m not sick, if that’s what you’re asking,” Murphy snaps without meaning to. 

Bellamy presses on, unaffected. “So that’s not why your hands are shaking?”

Murphy curls his hands into fists, digging his nails into his palms. “Fuck off, Bellamy.”

“If you keep approaching your problems like that, you’re going to push everyone away.”  
“That’s kind of the point.”

“Even Emori?”  
Murphy stops in his tracks, wheeling on him with barely-contained rage. “Look, I don’t know why you think you have a right to butt into me and Emori’s issues, but I will tell you that it’s annoying as hell and you _don’t_.”

“Then why did she come to me for help?”

Bellamy’s words are a slap in the face.

“What.”  
“She’s worried about you, Murphy.”

Murphy wants to wipe the measured little frown off Bellamy’s face.

“We’ve been living up here for over a year and you haven’t done anything to make it easier for yourself.”  
“I was the one who got Emori to forgive Raven and Miller and Jackson for trying to put her in an _oven_ ,” Murphy retorts, straightening his back. “I think that goes beyond teamwork.” 

“And yet you punish her for doing what you asked,” Bellamy says calmly. “You don’t deserve her.”  
“Great, so we agree on one thing.” He really doesn’t deserve Emori, who’s killed like him, been ruthless and selfish in order to survive like him, but unlike him, whose soul hasn’t cracked from it. She still has pages to turn, whereas he’s been stuck on the same chapter for over a year and still can’t make sense of it. If he’s a cockroach, un-killable no matter how many times he’s been stepped on, then she’s a snake- able to shed her skin and develop a new one while he’s always going to remain the same. Pathetic.

“I don’t think you’re a lost cause, Murphy,” Bellamy says, staring at him intently. “Neither does she. But you’re miserable right now because she’s been making an effort to apply herself and you don’t understand how much of a difference that can make.”

“Really?” Murphy drawls in disbelief. “Alright, how do you suggest I get on her level, then? D’you think Raven’s up to taking on another apprentice? I’m sure ‘crippling her’ will be a real stand-out on my resume. Or how about Monty? We can concoct algae all day and laugh about how I tried to kill his best friend twice, because that went so well last time.”

“We’ve all dealt with guilt,” Bellamy says. “You just need to see where you’re forgiven instead of using it as an excuse to be self-destructive.”

“Believe me, I know,” Murphy snarls, not caring about venturing into dangerous territory, possessed by the swirling dark thoughts in his head. “King Bellamy couldn’t swoop in to save his princess in time-”

When Bellamy swings at him, he’s expecting it, but he doesn’t move. Bellamy’s fist collides with his cheek and sends him stumbling back a few steps, cupping the blooming spot of pain on his face. Adrenaline kickstarts through his veins, and it feels  _ good _ , like waking up after a year of being asleep.

He rears back, prepared to return the hit, when he sees Bellamy bracing himself against the wall, his breathing labored after just one punch.

“You’re sick too,” Murphy realizes, swiping his tongue across his lips. The fight leaves his body, and is replaced with a strange sense of loss. “Go back to med bay, Bellamy. Get out of my face.”

Murphy turns before Bellamy can respond, storming down the hall. In the kitchen, he begins pulling down the canteens from the cabinet. Because they organize their tableware now. Like people in those sitcoms they used to show on the Ark. What a joke.

His eye throbs and has swollen shut by the time the first canteen is filled. The pain is the realest thing he’s felt in weeks, discounting his feelings toward Emori. He should have known love would be too fragile for him to handle. But here it is, in the palm of his hand, and he’d rather remain immobile than risk breaking it. 

He finishes filling several canteens and carries them back in the empty pot they use for algae. Jackson’s in the middle of taking Bellamy’s temperature, scratching it down on the clipboard precariously balanced on his knee. 

“How’re they doing?” Murphy asks, surpassing the quarantine to unload the canteens onto a table.

“Their temps have all breached a hundred-and-three degrees in the last five minutes, so, not great. You don’t have to be in here.” Jackson brushes past him, doing a double take. Judging by his expression, Murphy’s eye must look worse than he thought. “What happened to your face? You were gone for ten minutes.”

“I’ve got nothing better to do,” he says, ignoring Jackson’s question and kneeling down to gently rouse Emori. “Hey.”

Her almond eyes open, blinking several times and not quite focusing on him.

“Drink some water, okay?” He helps her hold up her head with one hand and holds the canteen to her lips with the other. She drinks slowly, pausing between each swallow to wince as it goes down. “That’s it. Easy.”

Her eyes flutter closed and he pulls the canteen back, wiping her mouth with his sleeve and freeing her sweaty hair of her headscarf with a pang of worry. 

“If you’re hanging around, think you can make sure the others stay hydrated too?” Jackson asks from where he’s checking the labels on pill bottles. “They’re all out of it.”  
Murphy would much rather stay by Emori’s side, but the frantic edge to Jackson’s tone pushes him into action.

“Seen anything like this before, Doc?” he asks, shifting around to assist Monty.

“I’m pretty sure it’s the same flu the Ark got hit with… nine or so years ago? I watched Abby handle the odd case. It’s highly contagious so…”

Murphy tunes out the rest of Jackson’s response. Oh.  _ Oh.  _ That’s why the symptoms are so familiar.

_ “Give it a few more days.” His mom’s voice was soft, back then. She cards her fingers through his sticky, damp clumps of hair, the motion almost lulling him back to sleep, but the spasming in his chest anchors him to consciousness. “He’s strong. He’ll pull through.” _

_ “Look at him,” his dad replies sternly. “He doesn’t have a few more days. He might not make it through the night.” _

_ They think he’s asleep, he realizes. They wouldn’t talk like this if they knew he’s listening. He knows he’s really sick, but what his dad’s saying scares him; he doesn’t want to die. He’s only ten.  _

_ His mom shushes his dad, and removes her hand from his head. He wishes she wouldn’t, because now all he can feel is his sickness, the loss of physical contact making him feel alone and unprotected. He keeps his eyes shut tight. _

_ “You heard the report Medical Station put out,” his mom continues, “People who have what he has are getting better-” _

_ “On what station, Alpha?” his dad snarls. “Antibiotics are doled out to the higher-ups like candy when they have so much as a cough, but when our child is on his deathbed there’s nothing they can do to extend our medicine ration? It isn’t right.” _

_ “It’s the law,” his mother exhales shakily, like she’s crying. He wishes she wouldn’t cry.  _

_ “No. It isn’t John’s fault he was born in Section 17. I’m getting him what he needs, the law be damned.” _

_ “Alex, don’t do anything stupid-” His mom is cut off by the door to their unit slamming shut. _

Monty sputters, and Murphy realizes he stopped drinking and he’s been pouring water all over the bottom half of his face.

“Harper, what…” Monty croaks, unable to muster the energy it takes to finish the sentence.

“Do I look like Harper to you?” Murphy looks around for a towel and ends up using the collar of Monty’s shirt to blot his face dry before heading over to the table. “Hey Doc, medicine isn’t gonna help.”

“What?” Jackson doesn’t seem skeptical, just surprised. “How do you know?”

Murphy works his jaw for a moment. “Just...trust me, okay?”

It’s a ridiculous request, and he half expects Jackson to laugh in his face. But Jackson doesn’t say anything.

Murphy fills the uncomfortable silence as he places the bottles medicine back in their bin. “They need sleep and…” What had his parents done for him? “They need to stay cool. We should probably remove as much clothing as possible… I don’t know why I’m telling you this, you know-” he looks up, and Jackson’s pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. “Doc?”

“Shit,” Jackson hisses, taking a step back from the table and immediately swaying.

Murphy catches his arm. “You’re sick.”

“I’ll be fine, just give me a minute-”

Murphy grabs hold of both his shoulders and pushes him down into a chair, Jackson being too dazed to resist. “Nope. You’re tapping out before you pass out. I think I can handle this, but I wouldn’t know what to do with a concussion.”

“Won’t you get sick too?” Jackson asks blearily.

Murphy manages a wry grin. “Been there, done that.”

What the hell he’s doing doesn’t occur to Murphy until he’s spent an hour flying by the seat of his pants, caring for eight sick people. Maybe this is his survival instincts revving up after a year in the shed, screaming that on the offchance the others aren’t able to pull through this virus like he did, he’ll be truly alone. Some fucked-up karma that would be, but maybe he deserves it. The last time he was trusted to take care of people he did end up smothering a couple of them to death, after all. 

He removes the thermometer from Harper’s forehead, checking the blinking digital number. A hundred degrees farenheit. Jackson said their temps were all over a hundred-and-three when he checked, so that’s good, right? Murphy replaces the wet towels on Harper’s forehead and neck before moving on to Raven.

Raven still has a temperature of a hundred-and-five. Murphy whistles, confidence waning. She must still be dehydrated. Unless he was wrong about not using medicine, and now he can’t consult Jackson about the right one to use, and Raven’s fever’s going to progress and she’s about to die at his hands. Again.

No- he can’t get overwhelmed now. The others’ fevers are going down. This is working, he just needs to figure out a way to get Raven to retain more water.

He tries getting her to drink some more, but the little she can get down just comes right back up all over the floor. Pleasant. He haphazardly cleans the bile up and tries to figure out a way to keep her hydrated without requiring her to use her stomach.

An I.V. is the most logical option, and Jackson had one set up before he conked out.

“Perfect,” he says to no one in particular; maybe the universe for making this easy for him, maybe Jackson, even though he’s not listening anymore. He wheels the I.V. pole over to Raven, checking the bag- his premonition was correct, it’s just saline- and examines the needle. He’s never actually done this before, but he saw Abby do it to Clarke in Polis. Abby inserted the tube into the inside of Clarke’s forearm- Murphy finds that spot on Raven. She’s pale enough that a blue vein stands out when he presses her arm, and he carefully slides the needle into her skin, using some medical tape to keep it in place.

He doesn’t realize Raven’s been awake the whole time until their eyes meet when he looks up. “Murphy?” her voice is hoarse.

“Here.” He mutters back, heat creeping up his neck. He averts her eyes, nodding down at her arm quickly. “Uh… It doesn’t hurt, does it?”  
It takes her a few seconds to respond, and he lifts his head, thinking she’s fallen asleep again. But her eyes are still open and blinking at him, red rimmed with sickness. Her hair is slipping out of her ponytail, plastered to her sweaty hairline and neck. “You’re taking care of us?”

He swipes his tongue around his mouth, shrugging. Her surprise kind of makes his heart ache. “Everyone else is out of order,” he says by means of explanation.

She studies him, and, God, he hates how her eyes pierce through his skin like the I.V. he inserted into hers. It’s the same way she looked at him on the dropship, when he thought she was about to give him up to Abby ( _ I got shot).  _ He’s shocked when her mouth stretches into a tired smile. “That’s not why you’re doing it,” she says, and before he can decipher the annoyingly-vague statement, she’s gone back under.

He stands, doing what he always does when he’s frustrated by people trying to pick his brain apart: he goes to Emori, dropping down by her side. Emori never tries to understand him, she just… does, somehow. If he were a more emotionally-concious person, like Bellamy or Raven, he might ask her how she thinks his brain works, because hell if he knows. He might ask her what’s wrong with him.

He pulls her head into his lap, which is surely a lot more comfortable than the thin pillow on the floor, and absentmindedly plays with her hair, not caring that it’s gross right now. Occasionally, her lashes will flutter like she’s stirring, but she keeps losing the battle and succumbing to sleep, which he’s glad for. She needs it to get better. 

Suddenly, a wave of fear crashes into him at the thought of losing her; not to death, because if there’s one thing he’s certain of it’s that a virus is no match for his girl. He’s terrified of losing her to  _ himself _ \- that she’ll grow tired of him needing her like this, needing her to live, because her heart is one that works without him. Bellamy’s words, that he barely thought anything of when they were spoken, slam into his chest like bullets.  _ You don’t deserve her _ .

The wound those words leave grows sore, and he’s painfully aware of it over the next week. It bleeds and bleeds, absorbing his thoughts, even as the others get better, and Jackson ties up the loose ends of the virus’s effects while Murphy retreats into himself, not caring if the others notice. 

Emori doesn’t- the second she and Raven are better, they’re back at the radio like nothing happened. He can’t bring himself to care anymore.

One night after mealtime, Jackson jogs down the corridor after him. “Murphy, hey.”

This is new. Jackson doesn’t normally seek out interaction with him like this. “Are you lost?”

Jackson ignores the jab and falls in step with him. “I’ve been meaning to tell you thanks for dealing with the virus. You did a good job.”

Murphy shrugs nonchalantly. “Like I said, it’s not like I had anything better to do, and believe it or not I’m above letting all of you die.” He stops at the door to his and Emori’s room, looking up with his hand on the doorknob. “What, are you waiting for an invitation or something? I’d like to avoid giving Miller a reason to float me.”

“What? No, no.” Jackson rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “Can you just stop pretending not to care and take the compliment?”

Murphy scoffs. “You think I’m pretending?”

“If you weren’t, you wouldn’t have spent a day looking after a bunch of sick people,” Jackson says. “No matter how selfish you’re trying to come off as.”

Trying to come off as selfish. Ha. “Damn, Doc, you trying to ruin my image?”

“I’m trying to say, for someone with, if I’m correctly assuming, little to no medical experience-” he pauses to allow Murphy to nod in confirmation before continuing “-you handled the situation really well.”

Murphy arches an eyebrow. “So you came here to shower me in compliments?”

“No, I came here to ask if you want medical training.”

Murphy blinks back his surprise at the proposal. “What, like be your apprentice?” He thinks of Raven training Emori to be a mechanic. 

“Sure,” Jackson says. “I was just thinking, when we were on the ground it was just me and Abby, and we were constantly swamped. Abby’s probably training more doctors in the bunker, but it’ll be good to have another in our group too.” He folds his arm over his chest.

Murphy stares at him, trying to gauge if he’s joking. “Did Bellamy put you up to this?”

Jackson blinks. “No…?”

Murphy rocks on his heels. “Sounds like a lot of work.”

“Got anything better to do?”

Murphy can’t deny, as focused as he was at the time on everyone else not dying, part of him did like taking care of people. The satisfaction when fevers started going down because of his efforts, how his brain was able to switch off as he got into the rhythm of things. Even Jackson telling him he was good at it evoked a sense of self-worth he hasn’t felt in a long time. 

“Great,” Jackson says, and Murphy realizes he must have agreed. He backpedals down the corridor. “We’ll start tomorrow. ‘Night, Murphy.”

Murphy stands in the corridor long after Jackson’s gone, mulling over what he just got himself into. When he finally enters his and Emori’s stateroom, he finds her lying on the bed. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Emori replies, looking up from her book. “Why are you smiling?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... we're back, bitches.
> 
> shout out to @all_soul for editing like half of this one for me love u babe


End file.
